


A Crooked Heart

by lifliflifr



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Character Death, Death, M/M, Supernatural Elements, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-17 21:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13085922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifliflifr/pseuds/lifliflifr
Summary: AU. In the quiet interlude between battles, one lone soldier makes a deal with the Reaper to end the war.





	1. Chapter 1

Where the Reaper goes, death follows.

That is a common observation made by mortals who have had the misfortune of making acquaintance with the figure cloaked in black. In reality, fiction is not far from the truth. Even now, as he walks through the streets of what used to be a small town, he is following the tug that is as ingrained to his existence as blood is to the human flesh.

Evidence of conflict is scattered across the area in the form of bullet holes and cracked walls, and the air is weighed down with the musk of rot and an unnatural silence. Yet, in spite of the telltale scarlet marks of death, not a single corpse can be seen.

Bodies and limbs of mass-produced mechanical dolls- or omnics, so named thus by their creators - decorate the streets, but very few of these beings contain the essence that has drawn the Reaper to this pitiful little town. The methodology of soul creation is a heavy-priced secret and a virtually impossible process to perform artificially in the realms of mortals. Thus, souls are rarely found in these mass-produced unliving beings, whose deaths are as quick as their unlife. Faced with the sea of mutilated omnic remains, Reaper feels only a mild sense of annoyance at the obstructions along his path.

By carelessness, one of his boots lands on the face-plate of a convulsing omnic, and its head caves in with a resounding crack, like the hollow shell of an insect. Electricity flashes through the air, and he stops to watch the brief light show until the sparks die out before moving on.

Instead of paying further attention to the arrays of broken dolls, he focuses on the trails of drying blood coming down all the streets and converging at a single warehouse in the town. Ripped bits of fabric have been caught in the jagged parts of the pavement, suggesting that somebody has dragged all the corpses away from their dying spot and into this place.

Arrangements for burial, Reaper guesses. Or a soft-hearted healer's misguided attempt to save the town folks. A cult performing ritualistic sacrifices to honour the gods of their own makings. Or perhaps it is simply the machinations of a madman, mind collapsed under the influence of the great destroyer known as Time.

As a constant being in an ever-changing world, the Reaper has seen it all.

Pressing a hand to the wall, he can sense the sheer quantity of souls on the other side, practically strumming the air with their unique scent and vivid presence.

Closing his eyes, Reaper disintegrates into smoke and reconstructs himself inside the warehouse.

A sea of corpses greets his sight, but that is not what captures his attention.

Up above the carnage, on the supporting beam near the ceiling, sits a lone old man with his feet casually dangling in midair. The man wears the attire of a fighter, with a large gun leaning on his side as his only companion. His body is smeared in red, a telltale giveaway of the perpetrator of the crime. Holding what appears to be a visor and and mask, he is staring straight ahead, seemingly at nothing in particular.

A madman, Reaper thinks. One haunted by monsters that only the man himself can see.

Either way, it is none of Reaper's business. Turning towards the corpses, he prepares to consume their souls.

"Hey."

He pauses, tilting his head in the direction of the voice.

Well, what a surprise. The old man can see him. It appears that he has to reevaluate after all. With the scent of decay that fills the air, it has somehow masked the man's own very poignant aura, thereby escaping his detection. It is vague, but he recognizes that face, having brief glimpse of it in many of the other places where he has previously walked. It's a face that chases disasters.

An ally then, Reaper decides, one who has fallen in love with the act of killing in midst of the endlessly raging wars. For only those with an unusual affinity, those who can laugh in the company of death, can see him when he does not wish to be seen.

"You're late."

So all these corpses are just bait to lure Reaper in? Curious. "I was not aware that there's a schedule to be kept."

Focusing on the spot beside the old man on the supporting beam, Reaper wills himself to disperse once again. If the other is surprised by the swirl of shadows nearby recomposing into a bone mask and cloak, there's no indication of it.

From this height, Reaper observes the sea of corpses beneath them. It's hard to tell where one body ends and another begins, all the insignificant scarlet blurring together into one massive clump. He wonders if that's what the old man sees, sitting so far above them.

"I ought to commend you for your efforts," he says, gesturing to the view below. "It must have been difficult to move all these bodies in one night."

"Yeah well, consider it a gift." Finally, the old man turns his head, and Reaper is met with blue eyes, burning fascinatingly bright with the fury of life despite the ugly scars that marr his face. "A feast, if you will, in exchange for listening to what I have to say."

Amused, Reaper looks back down and considers the weight of his offering. Such a measly quantity of soul is not enough to even count as a droplet inside the vast ocean of his hunger. But the effect of such an act on the perpetrator's soul, on the other hand...

"And who do I have to thank for the feast?"

The old man snorts. "I didn't slaughter them, if that's what you're asking."

How disappointing. For a second, Reaper contemplates swallowing the other's soul and leaving.

The old man continues. "But I did cook 'em and serve them up in a platter. Their deaths are on me."

Reaper looks across the area, and gauges there to be about five hundred souls, roughly the population of the town. It takes no ordinary man to have the strength to drag all of them from their dying spot and into this warehouse within the span of a few hours.

"My compliments to the chef," Reaper drawls and leaps down. He rips at the soul substance that's hovering above the closest corpse, twirling the strands together around his claw until it forms an orb. The colour shines bright gold. Delectable.

As he feasts, he's aware of the other dropping down from the beam and approaching him from peripheral vision.

"I'd like to make a deal," the old man says.

Perhaps out of a sense of curiosity towards this mortal who is fearless to the point of idiocy, Reaper decides to hear him out. "I'm listening."

"An offer of partnership, if you will. For my part, I vow to give you my soul."

It's a rather typical offering to a probably just as typical deal. These are the stories as old as time. Too many humans have overestimated the weight of their souls and suffered for it. But Reaper is in a good mood, so he decides to humour the other. "And in exchange?"

"This war's been going on for too damn long. Help me end it."

Reaper laughs. "You are a fool if you think that any force in the world can end War. Violence is a mere facet of life, a side-effect of having free will. Take down a piece, and the whole tower crumbles." Spinning around, he closes the distance between them in one gallop and grabs the other by the neck. "Unless you wish to suck the soul out of every living being, turn them into unliving machines with neither desire nor greed, I hardly see how it can be accomplished."

The old man growls and bats the clawed hand away. He rubs at the tiny stinging cuts left behind on his neck, looking more irritated than afraid. "Hate to say it, but being a soldier's the only thing left for me. If there's no war anymore, I'd be out of business. No, what I want is to end _this_ war."

"This war," Reaper echoes. "The Omnic War. What's so significant about it?"

He shrugs. "Promised someone that I would. Figured it's about time that I make good on my words."

Ah, promises. It has been a long time since then, but Reaper vaguely remembers making promises and deals like the old man before him. Although what the deals have entailed, he's long forgotten. Everything is rendered obsolete through the passage of time.

"That's all very well. But what use do I have for your crusty old soul?" Reaper looks in distaste at the broken little thing, neither vibrant with the flamboyance of life nor corrupt with the putrid darkness of malevolence. It's dull and ugly, a dime a dozen that can be found in any crowd.

"Once our deal is complete, my soul is yours to command. I can offer you the freedom to influence things that you cannot."

An interesting proposal, but Reaper is yet to be impressed. "I ought to rip out your soul this instance. What limit do my power have in this realm that I would need a mortal servant of all things?"

"Unlike you, I have the ability to go where death cannot. I've seen you before, wandering in areas right before a catastrophe happens. You're always haunting the battlefields where a significant death count would eventually be reported. Now I don't know if death follows the grim reaper or if it's the other way around, but I'm willing to bet that you can't go anywhere without calamity befalling that place."

That observation is not wrong. Thus is one of the frustrations of being the Reaper, for he can only observe life through the past remnants of it and never the real thing, never for long at least.

Nevertheless, he scoffs. "I have no interest in the living, apart from their value as containers of the soul."

"Maybe not," the old man says, not missing a beat. He must have come prepared to argue his case. "But think about it this way. If this war drags on for any longer, it's gonna kill us all and there'll be not a damn soul left for you to harvest. End the war now, and there'll still be enough people out there that your little self-generating power source will recover in no time. It's funny, but I'm thinking you have about as much stake in making sure humanity doesn't get slaughtered in this war as I do."

How does this mortal know so much about Reaper's power? Regardless, these are some good points. To have somebody on the inside, capable of influencing the cycle of life and death, is an extremely valuable tool to have. Furthermore, when a mortal invents an elixir of immortality, which is an eventuality and not a mere possibility, he will have a capable hunter on his side to help him permanently destroy it from existence.

"Besides, I wouldn't be mortal if you never let me die." The old man's face twists into a smirk that looks more like a grimace, due to the poorly-healed scar across his lips. "What do you say?"

"You are offering eternity," Reaper says slowly. "An eternity under the servitude of the being who is the nemesis of all living creatures in the world. An eternity with death and misfortune as your only constant companion. Mortals will fear you for the disaster that you bring in your wake. Even after this war ends, another will take its place, and all your efforts will be rendered obsolete for humanity never learns. And there shall be no rest for a soul such as you, for once you are mine, death shall never overcome you."

As he speaks, he gradually lets the darkness gather around him, swarming together to coalesce into a nightmare of smoky distortions and vicious teeth. He looms over the soldier, snarling out the words in a monstrously dissonant voice.

"Even now, knowing what lays ahead of this path, will you still offer eternity?"

"Yeah," says the soldier.

In his true form, Reaper blinks several of his countless eyes, unprepared and almost disappointed by such a simple response.

"What are you waiting for, something like 'yes, I do'? 'Til death do we part'?" The soldier snorts. "This isn't a marriage. Hurry up and seal the deal already."

Reaper growls in response, mildly annoyed that his intimidation has not worked. "Is your soul something of such little value for you to forsaken so easily, mortal? All for a measly little promise that nobody will even remember?"

"Take it as you will," the man says, looking unwilling to elaborate further.

After a long pause for consideration, Reaper makes his decision. "What is your name?"

"Soldier: 76, that's my call sign."

"No name?"

"No. Not anymore."

"Very well, my soldier. Brace yourself."

And the shadow swallows the man whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Reaper is the literal Reaper in this AU, living things tend to die around him. Hence, the character death tag. This fic will be a multi-chaptered, and I'll try to update whenever I can.
> 
> Please let me know what you think so far. Comments are much appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Reaper and his soldier infiltrate an enemy base, and get to know each other better in the process.

A day after the sealing of their deal, Reaper's soldier wakes up with a scream that could have woken up the dead.

Reaper feels it first in the hollow mass where his heart would be if he were mortal, the fluttering of a soul like the wings of a hummingbird trapped inside his rib cage. Such shared experience will undoubtedly become more common due to the establishment of their new soul connection. Nonetheless, he basks in the peculiar sensation, savouring it and committing it to memory.

Panic is not a pleasant feeling, but Reaper is intrigued by the novel vividity of it, as well as the tiniest tinge of something oddly familiar buried deep beneath.

As soon as 76's consciousness fully returns, the man instantly leaps off the bed, breathing heavily as he takes in his surroundings. His eyes flick to the floral curtains, to the antique furniture, and then finally to the supernatural creature sprawled on top of the only table in the room.

"Took you long enough," Reaper says, entertained to see the man so ruffled when nothing has seemed to faze him before.

Though as their eyes meet, his shoulders visibly relax, and the phantom heartbeat in Reaper's chest slows down.

"Where," 76 coughs. "Where am I?"

Reaper looks around the shoddy little place and shrugs. "A motel room. The owner will not be missing it."

Considering that the owner's soul is probably residing in his stomach right now, along with the souls of everyone else who used to live in this town - yes, nobody will be missing it.

"I hope you have your next move planned," Reaper says. "I agreed to help you end this war, not do it myself."

76 scoffs. "I didn't trade my soul away without a plan in mind." He moves to throw open the window curtains, basking himself in moonlight as he peeks outside. "What day is this?"

"You've missed only one sunrise. It seems that the human soldiers have quarantined this place off, so nobody has come to investigate yet. What did you do to keep them away from this town?"

"Good. There's still time," 76 mutters under his breath. Then louder, he says, "I've spread false intel that these omnics were the PY-03 units. On destruction, they're known for releasing a variety of toxic gas that becomes highly flammable after 30 minutes of exposure to oxygen. Standard military procedure is to wait a week for the gas to disperse first, since even a low grade biotic emitter can accidentally set the gas on fire."

Humanity's countless novel ways to kill one another aren't new to Reaper, but he's almost impressed by the ingenious cruelty of this one.

He can picture it in his head, the way things might have happened if 76's false intel were real. Under attack, the clueless town folks and their local law enforcement would be forced to take up arms to defend themselves. They bash the omnics open, only to release toxic gas into the very town that they have been trying to protect. As the humans succumb to the toxins one by one, emergency first responders are forced to watch from the sidelines, unable to help out of fear that they would set everything ablaze with their healing technology.

There are easier ways to kill everyone in a small town like this. Whoever invented that method has done it to intentionally inflict pain.

Based on the clouded look that passes 76's eyes as he describes this, it's likely that he has personally witnessed the effects of such devastation. Reaper decides not to pry. They have all of eternity to get to know each other, after all. "So you've thought this through."

Ignoring the remark, 76 focuses on putting on his mask. Everything slots into place with a click, replacing his expressive blue eyes with a red visor and yellow glow. Faced with the cold and flat visage, Reaper finds himself almost vexed by it, though he doesn't understand why.

"Where's my pulse rifle?"

"That heavy hunk of metal? It's under the bed."

76 pulls the gun out, grumbling in annoyance as he wipes off the cobwebs that clung onto the rifle's surface. "We should leave soon."

Reaper watches curiously as his soldier fumbles about in the room. "Where will you go?"

"I need to burn the bodies first. Then _we_ are going to end this war."

 

* * *

 

It turns out that by burning the bodies, what 76 really means is to incinerate the entire town off the map. The cover story has already been set in place, as other humans would naturally assume that it is the works of an accidental ignition of the flammable gas. While Reaper doesn't understand the reasoning behind his actions, it is clear that he doesn't want to leave a single trace of evidence behind.

Reaper imagines that not many people in 76's life would condone him making a deal with the physical personification of death, if there is anyone left in this world who cares for this lonely soldier's existence.

From the top of the hills, they observe their handiwork. It's easy to see the peak of flames even through the thick smoke that covers the sky. And as 76 watches the fire consume the area, Reaper watches him instead.

The tactical visor, or so it's called by 76, hides all expression apart from the tiny furrow on his forehead. He is quiet, almost motionless as the light of the fire dances across his body.

A low, unrecognizable desire tugs at Reaper's belly, and suddenly he wants to tug the visor off and peer at those expressive blue eyes again. The steady beating of the connection in his chest suggests that the other is calm, but that is only one small part of the story - a red herring, if anything. The man was calm when he signed his soul away for an eternal life of servitude under the greatest enemy of humankind. Being calm doesn't mean a damn thing for a man who, after a nightmarish awakening, became relaxed at the sight of a monster at his bedside instead of growing more terrified.

76 turns, jostling Reaper out of his reverie. "Let's go."

Letting the frustration ebb away, it takes a few moment for Reaper to recompose himself. "Where to?"

"We're heading to Watchpoint: Gibraltar. I've hijacked a small airship and hid it not far from here. But..."

"I hope you realize that there's a high chance that the airship will crash with me on it," Reaper says. "You've said it yourself. Disaster frequently hits the places I've been seen in."

Some would call the distortion that Reaper has upon the world a curse. Like the harbinger of misfortune, most vehicles that he has been on tend to malfunction, resulting in some of the most catastrophic incidents in history. Although he himself would argue that the order of cause and effects are not so linear, especially with his power which can transcend both time and space.

76 looks untroubled. "Good. That power of yours will be useful in our upcoming mission."

It clicks then, that this is exactly what the man wants. It's more than a little twisted but somehow rather fitting in a way, for a soldier to see an opportunity for peace where others would only see the death and destruction that Reaper's curse brings.

"So this is how you plan on influencing the war. By using my presence to alter the flow of deaths in this world."

"Got it in one," 76 says. "Though we'd have to actually get to the watchpoint safely first, in order for this plan to work. There's some way to do it, isn't there? These disasters you cause. They happen in isolated pockets, not trails. Made it damn hard to track you down. How do you get to one location and the next without messing up the places in between?"

It seems that the man has been observing his movements for a long time, to have pinpointed his pattern down like that.

"Do you have a map?"

Pressing a few buttons, 76 projects a hologram of the globe from his tactical visor.

Nostalgia hits Reaper, and even before the blinking arrow appears, he knows intuitively where Watchpoint: Gibraltar is. It strikes him as as bit strange, because he has no recollection of going to such a place himself. But the Earth has a long memory, so he's not too concerned about forgetting fleeting moments of it.

"This is where we need to go, so how-"

Without a warning, Reaper grabs 76, and the two of them disappear in the blink of an eye.

 

* * *

 

Out of the shadows, Reaper and his soldier reappear in the world, the latter sputtering and hissing like a ruffled cat.

"What the hell," 76 snarls. "Might wanna give me some warning next time."

To himself, Reaper thinks that he won't give a warning next time either, just to feel the fluttering heartbeat in his chest and see the other's amusing reaction again. But rather than riling his companion up even more, his attention shifts to their new surroundings.

Tasting sea breeze in the air, he turns and nearly tumbles into free-fall. It appears that he has somehow teleported them to a precarious position near the edge of a cliff, where one accidental step would result in them being met with the ocean waves down below.

Watchpoint: Gibraltar's buildings are dilapidated, but there are definitely signs of life having accessed the area recently. It's there in the disturbance of dirt on the walls and careless footprints left behind on the ground. Whoever is here hasn't made any attempts to conceal their presence. Though what's interesting is that the size of some of the footprints doesn't appear to be that of a human's.

76 seems to have noticed this as well. "Shit," he says. "I didn't think Winston would be here."

"Someone you know?"

The tiny pause says it all. "Not anymore."

As they move to a safer location, 76 gradually begins to lay out the rough picture of his plan. While battles are fought with soldiers and guns, the real key to warfare is information. And in order to turn the tides of war on its own head, they need the information stored in the watchpoint's database. A list of names, he says. That's all he needs in order to determine their next moves.

There is a second objective, but the man trails off as they reach a wall with a round symbol embedded upon it.

"What is that?" Reaper asks.

"Overwatch's logo. They're the international military organization created to deal with the Omnic Crisis. A fat lot of good that did." 76 shakes his head, and with a huff of laughter he starts walking again. "This place is one of their bases. Not many of these left."

"They are important to you," Reaper guesses, knowing that he has hit the nail in the head when the pulse quickens.

76 growls. "Focus on the mission."

A military organization, Reaper notes. Perhaps his soldier used to be affiliated with them but parted ways badly. It doesn't explain how sabotaging such an organization would end the war, apart from perhaps putting humanity at a bigger disadvantage and thereby leading to their defeat. However, 76 doesn't strike him to be the kind of person who would set the house on fire to kill a couple of ants, so he is stumped.

"Your friend Winston," Reaper says. "You're fine with him getting caught up in all of this?"

76 flinches, but his stride doesn't slow. "Can you...?"

"I can keep you alive as per our soul bond. Not so much anyone else though."

"Let's try to avoid him," he says, making a noise of frustration. "Best we can do right now, since we're already here."

A guard is standing in the next corridor, but before he can even react to the sight of intruders, 76 swiftly slams him to the wall and knocks him out with the butt of his gun.

The proceeding few guards also meet the same fate, as Reaper's soldier proves to be an experienced fighter. So far, he has managed to keep things quiet while dispatching all of them, but a lone combatant can only get so far with one pair of eyes.

From the corner of his vision, Reaper notices an enemy standing still, frozen at the sight of her comrades on the ground. A hand slowly reaches towards the wall to press the comms, but the surrounding shadows react faster.

Without a second thought, Reaper teleports and grabs the guard by the mouth, his claw muffling the human's terrified whimpers as shaky hands desperately try to push him away. This soul isn't particularly nourishing, but he consumes it anyways.

Looking back, Reaper sees that three more guards have joined their companions on the ground, and 76 is moving their bodies to the side where they will be more hidden from view. When their eyes meet, he receives a quick nod, which he interpret as gratitude.

In spite of having a preference for knocking their enemies out, it seems that 76 has no qualms about Reaper killing people. Well, that suits him just fine, even though he doesn't see the point of it really. The chances of survival for all living beings in this facility has begun to dwindle the moment he stepped foot in its vicinity.

Using the key card stolen off one of the guard's body, they gain access to a new hallway with five or six rooms on each side. Reaper tastes the air, and doesn't sense the presence of souls nearby. Based on the light layer of dust that covers everything, it seems that the area has not been visited by anyone in quite a while.

"They've moved things around," 76 says as he reaches for the first door on the left. "There should've been a terminal on the wall here, but looks like it's removed. I'll take the left side. Check the right rooms and see if there's something that we can use to access the system."

There's a casual confidence in the man's voice, suggesting that he is used to giving out orders and expecting them to be followed. The arrogance equally amuses Reaper and annoys him in return, but that polarity is what has drawn him to his soldier in the first place. So he decides to comply for now and examine the other rooms.

The first room doesn't yield anything particularly interesting, nor does the second and the third. Some of them are stuffed to the brim with medical health packs, while the others appear to function as storage rooms for broken equipment under repair. As he fades into the fourth room, something on the table with a black steel glow catches his attention.

It's the parts of a shotgun. This, he knows intuitively in the same way that he knows how to reassemble it back together using the pieces available. It's muscle memory where there should be none, but he lets the glimpse of memory guide him, using shadows as replacements for the missing components as he forges the pieces together.

Once reassembled, Reaper holds the shotgun and trails a finger along its dark curves and edges. It's a beautiful design, he decides. But as he grasps the handle, it feels as if something is missing, like the throbbing pain of a phantom limb, a sense of loneliness when there should be a pair.

Calling the shadows to him again, he closes his eyes and tries to coalesce them into substance. He pictures the shotgun in his right hand, the details and intricacy of it, and wills a mirror image of it to form in his left hand.

Opening his eyes, he is greeted with the oddly familiar sight of one shotgun in each hand. They are heavy, but somehow the weight of them balances him.

"Hellfire."

Reaper twists around to see his soldier leaning on the door frame. "What?"

"That's what the shotguns are called. That one's just a backup model though. It was broken during one of the missions. Guess they never got around to repairing it."

Shotguns. Plural. It looks like he is right about the weapon being a part of a pair, somehow.

"You know the previous owner?"

"He's dead," 76 says flatly.

Oh. Reaper tilts his head and considers this new piece of information. Perhaps it's in bad taste to toy with a dead man's undoubtedly beloved treasure. Reluctantly, he places the shotgun down and wills its mirror image to vanish into smoke.

For a long time, 76 doesn't move. But eventually, he shakes his head, as if trying to clear away something from his mind. "Or maybe not as dead as I thought. Keep the gun. It suits you somehow."

Reaper quickly swipes the gun off the table lest 76 retracts the offer. Smoky tendrils encase the barrel until the whole thing is swallowed, memorizing its design before decomposing and storing the particles in the void. Hellfire, he mouths the name, pleased. The previous owner has some good taste. He will be sure to take good care of it in their stead.

Eagerly, Reaper turns back to his soldier. "Where to next?" He hopes it's somewhere he can put his new weapons to good use.

76 jerks his head to the left, and his shoulders are shaking slightly in a way that has Reaper puzzled until a strange sensation blossoms through their bond. It tastes light and airy, like golden gossamer shimmering under the warm sunlight.

"Well aren't you excited," 76 says, rough voice caving away to the laughter trapped in his throat. "Good news for you. We're heading to the labs. There should be plenty of security personnel for you to play with over there."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left a comment or kudos so far! I really appreciate the support.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gibraltar base, part 2.

In front of the labs, two security guards are patrolling the hallway, though perhaps calling it patrolling is giving them too much credits. They are young and careless, complacent in ways that soldiers during wartime cannot afford to be. After a few half-hearted paces, one leans against the wall and sighs.

"This is so boring," the guard complains. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad we got reassigned away from that hellhole. But it's been over a year, and literally nothing happens over here!"

"Mm."

"Accepting the deal has its perks, but I wish they gave us better jobs."

"Be quiet," the other guard finally snaps. "Do you want the whole base to know?"

"The whole base already knows. Those who didn't all got sent to the front line, remember? Relax a bit. You're too paranoid. Plus, other than that monkey, nobody comes this way anyways."

A tiny pebble drops from the ventilation shaft above them. It makes a noise and bounces as it hits the ground. This puts both of the guards on alert.

"What was that?"

One of them picks up the pebble, inspecting it under better lighting. "Bad maintenance?"

"I guess this shoddy facility does need some fixing. We're lucky that we're not on janitorial duties at least."

The pair turn around, but somebody else has taken their spot by the wall.

"Hi," Reaper says cheerfully.

Before they can scream, his arms shoot upwards, blowing off their heads swiftly using his newly acquired shotguns. Having been using his shadows as pellets, he is impressed by the silent efficiency of the twin weapons. They have certainly proven their worth as a catalyst to channel his power through. After plucking out the souls and consuming them, he turns to observe his partner-in-crime's actions.

76 is in front of the keypad mechanism of the locked lab doors, rapidly typing something. After a few beeps, the doors slide open, revealing the dark interior.

"No souls inside," Reaper says, but pauses as he catches a faint whiff of gold. He tilts his head, tasting the air in the direction of the ceiling, and retracts his statement. "No. Somebody is there. Above us. In the wires?"

It's not a human soul, but the flavor is tinged with human contamination in the same way that those man-made mechanical dolls are. Although the fainter aura suggests that it's not yet fully ripened - an artificial soul in the making, but not really there yet. It's quite a rarity.

"Athena, lights," 76 calls out.

Instantly, the overhead lights flick open, brightening the interior of the labs and revealing the strange machinery surrounding them. Several hologram displays turn on, showing 3D rendering of various intricate designs. There are numerous data pads scattered in an disorganized manner across the table and an abandoned coffee mug dangerously close falling off the edge.

Reaper picks up the mug and inspects the interior. It is empty, but the ceramic still has some lingering warmth in it.

"Somebody's been here recently."

"Athena?" 76 says, head tilted towards the ceiling.

"Winston was working here earlier, sir. But he went to the kitchen for a quick snack."

So the ghost living in the wires is an AI. Reaper connects the dot the moment he hears the synthetic voice coming from the speakers embedded in the walls around them. How 76 has gotten an AI on their side is beyond him. Though it would explain why the enemies have yet to be alerted of their trespassing, even with so many security cameras around.

"We better make it fast then." 76 looks around, and moves to one of the computers in the corner. He takes out a tiny device and jams it into an socket on the machine. There's a brief surge of electricity, and then the dark screen lights up to display a purple progress bar. "Just gotta wait now."

Reaper takes a seat on one of the chairs as they wait, but he quickly grows bored as the bar seems to be increasing by only a pixel at a time. His eyes wander around the room, eventually landing on the faint glow coming from the ceiling. The ghost in the wires. Athena. He mentally files them away as another piece of the puzzle.

"You can just ask, you know."

Looking down, Reaper sees 76 peek at him from behind one of the holograms, head tilted in a way that suggests amusement.

"Now where would be the fun in that?"

76 snorts. "Always gotta make things harder than it needs to be, don't you?"

The casual implication is not lost on Reaper, as he considers his next words carefully. "We've only known each other for two days."

"Funny, feels like an eternity," 76 says breezily. The tone of his voice is light but controlled, a veneer of false nonchalance made to mask the weight of his words. It almost works, but even some of the best actors can't control their own telltale heartbeat. "I used to work here. For Overwatch. That's how I know Athena. She assisted us in all our facilities, made our lives damn easier. Though unfortunately, after a hacker scare, they've limited her security clearance levels. She still has direct control over the physical aspects of each facility, but they've locked her out of any classified data repository."

Reaper fills in the blank. "That's why you need to come here yourself."

"Yeah."

"And the cause of that hacker scare-"

"Was me."

Slowly, Reaper pulls himself up from the chair and moves to where the man is standing. "You surprise me," he says. "You are not someone who would betray your comrades."

It's not a guess. Reaper knows this with a steel hard certainty that is almost unsettling for how much he is willing to bet on it.

"We've only known each other for two days," 76 parrots back. He's probably smirking under that mask, the bastard. "Anyway, they're no friends of mine."

"Then where are your friends?"

"Sent to the frontline, or six feet under. Or both. Same damn thing in the end."

Reaper frowns at that. "You are being annoyingly vague for someone who agreed to answer my questions."

"What can I say," the man shrugs. "I like to keep things interesting for you."

Oh, he's keeping things interesting alright, but before Reaper can comment on that, something from far away captures his attention. Straining to expand his senses further, he sends out a few strands of shadows to get a better feel.

It's a soul, but not a human one. He thinks back to the strange footprints they saw when they first arrived at Gibraltar, and asks, "What about Winston?"

This gives his soldier a pause. "Winston is crazy smart, but too trusting. I doubt he's complicit in- well, he's not an ally. But I doubt he's an enemy."

"If you want to avoid a confrontation, I'd say to act fast."

"Sir," Athena chimes in. "Winston is returning to the labs. I can stall him for a bit longer, but the estimation is at most five minutes."

Muttering a few curses under his breath, 76 spins around to look at the monitor. The progress bar is at around eighty percent; there is little chance that it will be complete in five minutes.

"I'll go stall," Reaper says, one leg already fading through the wall before the other interrupts.

"Wait! That death curse of yours, does it get stronger with proximity to living beings? Is Winston in more danger with you closer to him?"

"Yes it does," he shrugs. "So what?"

"Then-!"

"What does it matter?" Reaper asks, puzzled by the other's erratic behaviour. Killing things hasn't bothered the man so far, so what made this time different? "Will keeping him alive have any effect on the progression of this war?"

For a good few seconds, 76's body remains tense, fist clenched and posed to fight. But slowly, inch by inch, he relaxes. "Maybe it won't matter, but there's no need to risk it either. Winston's tough. No matter how he dies, it's gonna make a lot of commotion. All the guards storming in our direction is gonna make our job a lot harder than it needs to be."

The response is cold and unemotional, but Reaper isn't fooled. There's an edge of danger somewhere in those words, and he is all the more enthralled by it. He wants to provoke it out a little more. "There'll be a commotion either way, if Winston gets here and sees what we've been up to in his precious laboratory."

76 growls. "Yeah? Well what do you propose we do then?"

"Like I've said, I'll go stall. Come and find me when you're done."

With that, Reaper turns around and fades through the wall. Instead of reforming right away, he dashes across the corridors, making a beeline to intersect the peculier soul signature in its path.

Finally reaching the target, Reaper coalesces back into visibility, barely dodging the steaming liquid projectile as the target drops his mug and screams. It's unexpectedly high pitched, for what appears to be... a gorilla wearing a space suit?

"Hey," Reaper says, just to be polite.

Winston, however, appears to have none of the same manners. Instead of returning the greeting with poise and dignity, he's holding a banana, brandishing it like a weapon in his panic. "What are you?! And how did you get here?"

Rude.

"I'm Reaper. I'm here because I chose to be."

That should be sufficient enough of a warning. Summoning his shotguns from the shadows, Reaper swings one arm around, aiming directly for the gorilla's head. To Winston's credit, he is unexpectedly agile and manages to leap backwards far enough to avoid most of the damage.

"Athena!" He shouts, keeping a steady eye on the wraith-like creature. "Alert the base! There's an intruder!"

The place is silent.

"Athena?"

"Pity, it looks like you're all alone."

"How...? What did you do to Athena?!" Letting out a roar, Winston takes off his glasses and transforms into something a lot redder and angrier. He catches Reaper by surprise with a powerful swing of his arm, sending the other flying through the air to the other end of the hallway.

Reaper's claws briefly trace the indentation on the wall created by the impact, before he picks himself back up. The shadows dance around him, trembling in excitement at the prospect of a thrilling hunt. "Looks like you bear some entertainment values after all."

Laughter echoes down the hall, tinged with cruelty.

"Let's play a game, shall we? A game of seeing how long you can survive for."

Unfortunately for Winston, he is not the other player. He has no control over the outcome of this game.

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere within the limits of Reaper's memory, he once came across a feline creature, tiny and weak from exhaustion. It had collapsed on the pavement, mewing pathetically as it looked at him. Either out of boredom or curiosity, he took the cat with him. He fed it and gave it water to drink, but still, the cat did not get better.

On a day where the rain fell like shotgun pellets, Reaper and the cat took shelter under the roof of an empty log cabin. As he pondered over what to do, he looked down at the cat curled up like a ball in his arms. And for an infinitesimal moment, he felt the world slow down around him.

Somewhere between the time a raindrop came into his field of view and when it hit the ground, he saw double vision. As that droplet drew closer to the ground, more frames of the same scene juxtaposed upon one another, one by one until it almost felt too crowded. But what he'd seen had made sense to him, like reading a language he hadn't known that he had known.

In one vision, the cat never got better, and it died, tiny and weak as the day it was born. Maggots would soon consume its flesh, eventually leaving only the bones as remains. In another vision, the cat recovered from its sickness, only to get run over by one of the many vehicles that populated the human cities. In a few rare visions, the cat grew to live a long and happy life, free of danger and distress.

For every inch that the raindrop fell, Reaper watched in fascination as those happier visions began to collapse, corrupted by his shadows, flickering like grainy signals trying to cling onto life but couldn't. By the time the raindrop splattered onto the ground, all the possibilities, all the roads that lay ahead, led to death.

But of course, Reaper had known this. (Didn't he?) He had lived with this power for eons, after all. (Hadn't he?) But for this tiny amber of a moment in time, it had felt new. And this queasy feeling beneath his ribcage, that was also new. However, performing a necessary evil was something that he was intimately familiar with, something he knew how to do. (Always had.)

So he shifted the weight around until he was holding the cat gently in his claws, feeling for its neck. It purred and licked at his mask, trusting until the end.

There are many variations of this occurrence since then. It happens again and again and again, no matter what Reaper does. He can no more prevent the shadows from destroying those futures than he can will himself out of his own existence, nor does he want to.

Though it doesn't stop Reaper from feeling a tiny lurch in his stomach when he turns around and sees the fractured realities. The shadows have started their corrupting influence again, covering Winston and the surrounding walls in their smoky tint.

76 needs to get here soon, or it would be too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there's any grammar/spelling mistakes. I didn't proof-read this one closely.
> 
> I'm still trying to figure out an update schedule for this one. Which do you prefer, faster updates with shorter chapters or slower updates with longer chapters? Let me know!


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